


of statues and men

by NOSEBANDAGE



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: All SVT Members, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Detective!Hansol, Doctor!wonwoo, Established Relationship, Lawyer!Jeonghan, Lawyer!Jisoo, Loosely based on going seventeen's bad clue episode, M/M, Mingyu and Jisoo are Cousins, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Murder Mystery, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wonwoo and Seokmin are Brothers, analyst!soonyoung, chef!mingyu, chief executive!seungcheol, detective!jihoon, doctor!seokmin, engineer!junhui, lapslock, medical intern!chan, news reporter!seungkwan, secretary!minghao, set in the 80s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NOSEBANDAGE/pseuds/NOSEBANDAGE
Summary: who creates these laws that bind,if not for those who wish to be bound?-loosely based on the bad clue episode of going seventeen.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu, Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. the temperature of marble

**september 16, 1982**

"the nation's pharmaceutical pioneer, kim sungmin, has been found murdered in his jecheon home, less than two hours away from k pharmaceutical's headquarters in seoul.

the crime scene was discovered by the home's groundskeeper, around 11:34pm, when he awoke to the sound of a door slamming shut.

foul play is suspected due to the condition of the room where the body was found; however, forensics has just given us an official statement that there are no external injuries on the body. the medical examiner on the case is currently waiting for approval of an autopsy to find the cause of death. 

our hearts are heavy with the news of this tragedy and we keep the kim family in our thoughts.

we will be sure to update you as we gather more information. 

this is boo seungkwan of ht media, signing off."

♚ 

when did it start? and when will it end?

both questions have answers—answers tucked so deeply into the labyrinth of wonwoo’s heart they might as well not exist. they’re soundless, intangible; hidden from the world.

he sits on a worn leather chair, leaning forward in thought. it’s currently 1:51am, the small _tick tock_ of his rolex marking the passing of time without care. he tries to concentrate, but it’s proving to be difficult with the incessant chatter (an argument here and there or an exclamation of shock making its rounds) surrounding him. there is a medley of voices inside the foyer and even more in the hallway connecting to the office. he can’t register what each person is saying, but some of the voices are familiar, they belong to a face he knows.

he’s incredibly tired, having just finished a 14-hour shift at the hospital. it was meeting after meeting after meeting; no time to attend to his own work in the rehabilitation ward. it left him feeling weightless, unsatisfied. so when he gets a call from his brother saying there's an emergency meeting at the hong household, a small family branch under the kims, he can only respond with an "ok". if only he had known then what he knows now, he would've made it a priority to brace himself for what was to come.

just as he decides to go outside for some fresh air to compose himself, he feels the hesitant squeeze of a large hand on his shoulder. he doesn’t need to turn and look to know who it is, but he does so anyway, expressionless as he faces a man slightly taller than him. a nervous energy is emanating him, betraying the firm build of his body, the broadness of his shoulders within his suit.

the grandson of his former employer slowly moves his hand downwards, stopping at the sleeve of wonwoo’s blazer, just barely gripping the fabric. his lips are turned down at the corners and his eyes refuse to meet wonwoo’s. neither of them say anything for a moment. then, as if making a decision for them both, wonwoo shifts to take the timid hand in his, wordlessly moving in the direction of the foyer’s balcony. it’s unspoken, but evident, that wonwoo is giving the man an escape route, a chance to break free from wonwoo’s hold and rejoin the others like nothing happened. but the man doesn’t resist. he only silently follows behind, eyes trained on the nape of wonwoo’s neck, his pulse beating against the pads of wonwoo’s fingers.

♚

**april 6, 1968**

kim sungmin's grandson sits quietly on the steps right outside the kitchen's side door as the adults bustle about in preparation. to his left, he can see the line of tables adorned with royal blue tablecloths, the fabric swaying in a calm dance with the wind. at the edge of the yard is a white banner, held by two rods on either side and pinned into the ground. his eyes land on the bold black characters printed onto the fabric:

_HAPPY 10TH BIRTHDAY KIM MINGYU_

he found it… tacky. mingyu first heard that word when passing by the laundry room a few weeks ago, the maid and the nanny gossiping above the groans of the washing machine. he found that it fit the image of his birthday banner, mumbling the word soundlessly, continuing to sulk in silence.

most kids would be excited about turning ten: the presents, the cake, the attention, all of it just for the birthday boy. but mingyu knew better than that. he remembered how his birthday was the year before and he knows this year is no different. it doesn’t take him being ranked number one in his grade for him to know that. this is his family, after all, the very ‘powerful and well-off’ kim family.

he doesn’t really understand the technicalities of it, something about making medicine and knowing every director of every hospital in every city. he doesn’t know how _that_ leads to _this_ : intense, borderline extravagant, preparation for a party that is more for the kim family name than it is for him, kim mingyu. still, he also knows better than to question it and accepts it for what it is.

he can already see the old men sneaking into the presence of his grandfather, offering words of flattery here and there as their wives sit in their own little cliques, the smell of their face powder and harsh perfume wafting in the air.

it wasn’t always like this. when his mother was still alive, his parties always involved classmates and cake, not businessmen and champagne. a small ache pumps through his chest and he makes a pained expression, the corners of his eyes beginning to glisten with the build-up of tears.

“ _i miss her. i miss her. i miss he-_ ”

the slam of a car door causes him to look over, leaving his thoughts behind (if only for a moment). a single tear caresses his cheek and he returns the favor by rubbing at it violently with his sleeve.

the driver of the car looks about the age of his father, but that’s where the similarities stop. there’s something that makes this man intimidating, an air around him that commands attention and drips with authority. his father is about the same height, possibly taller, but instead of wearing his suit like this man did, it was more like his suit wore him.

mingyu considers the driver’s figure carefully as he makes his way around the car to open the passenger door. he can hear other guests arriving, voices filling the yard with white noise, but his attention is locked on the two boys carefully stepping out of the vehicle. there’s a boy on each side of the driver, the smallest has a wide grin on his face, vibrating with energy, while the other observes the landscape in front of him, expressionless, a miniature version of their father (mingyu assumes that’s who he is to them).

he didn’t think there would be any kids today, willing to content himself with the company of the cook and the sound of utensils clattering about. with a newfound excitement, he pushes off the steps and runs the length of the yard to the gate entrance as fast as he can. when mingyu reaches them, panting softly, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline, he’s met with mixed reactions. the smallest boy looks enthusiastic at the prospect of a new friend while the other, still expressionless behind his wire-rimmed glasses, merely peers up at his dad, who flashes mingyu a barely-there smile as he nudges the two kids towards the birthday boy.

his hands, which a moment ago had been resting on his knees during his attempt to regain his breath, are now in the tight, and slightly sweaty, grip of the smaller, smiling boy.

“hi! you’re mingyu, right? happy birthday! i’m seokmin and i’m also ten! but i turned ten a while ago… so that means i’m older! that’s great! by the way, do you guys have ca-”

mingyu widens his eyes as a hand is tactlessly slapped across the talkative boy’s mouth. the smaller boy, who he now knows is called seokmin, immediately frowns and protests against this interruption. regardless, his brother’s hand doesn’t budge as he looks at seokmin with what mingyu thinks might be annoyance. he can’t really tell since the kid’s face looks unchanged, but he does catch the whisper of a frown, or at least, mingyu thinks he does.

“you’re scaring him,” the brother's voice doesn’t carry too far, only slightly louder than seokmin's ongoing muffled complaints, but mingyu hears him and snorts in amusement.

“mmmpf- nnn! no, i’m not, hyung!” seokmin cries out as he finally manages to escape his brother’s hold, rushing over to mingyu to hide behind him. “you’re the one scaring him!”

seokmin's brother sighs and re-adjusts his glasses out of habit, a small pink imprint left behind on the bridge of his nose. he ignores seokmin’s taunts and tilts his head at mingyu, “am i?”

mingyu lets out a peal of laughter and quickly shakes his head _no_. he smiles warmly, first to seokmin behind him, and then to the bespectacled boy, before responding.

“what’s there to be scared of?”

the other boy raises a brow, thinking of an answer to give; after a few beats, he simply mirrors the small smile his father had given earlier. mingyu thinks he looks better like that, considers that he would look even better with a bigger smile and starts thinking of games they can play to achieve that. after making a quick mental list, mingyu opens his mouth to ask for his name, but before he can say anything, he finds the name being offered instead.

“i’m wonwoo… and, well, i’m also curious if you have cake.”

♚

the moon rests lifelessly against the dark expanse of the sky, not a star in sight. wonwoo can feel the cold begin to penetrate his suit, as expected of an unforgiving autumn night, but he doesn’t complain. he doesn’t say anything at all and neither does the man beside him; instead, their fingers find each other, intertwining into a familiar position, a familiar warmth, a familiar comfort. wonwoo tilts his head up, surveying the endless nothingness above and when he closes his eyes, it’s still just as dark, still as empty. the only thing wonwoo can find comfort in is the light press of soft lips against his hand, moving slowly from knuckle to knuckle. when his hand is brought back down, he opens his eyes and meets the gaze of the other.

right now, they accept the mutual silence, the unsure tension in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello seventeen fans! this is my first fanfic... ever. i warn you in advance that, while i have a general plot in mind, i am writing this story chapter by chapter. that being said, tags and warnings will be updated as the story continues. i'm not sure about how consistent i will be about posting but i will do my best! again, this is my first fanfic, so any comments, feedback, or suggestions are greatly appreciated.
> 
> p.s.  
> there will be a happy ending. i promise.
> 
> [visit NOSEBANDAGE on twitter →](https://twitter.com/NOSEBANDAGE)


	2. sandboxes and crumbling castles

aside from his brother, who he was bound to by force, wonwoo didn't have anyone he was particularly close to, someone to call a friend. he had a naturally quiet disposition and general lack of interest in others; that combined with his "good-looking" face, kids (specifically girls) chalked it up to his mysterious nature. wonwoo’s aware that, without this face of his, he would’ve been treated like a germ—just another loner kid with no friends and even less charm.

two weeks ago, a few days before wonwoo’s birthday, his father asked what he wanted to do; specifically, if he wanted to throw a party and invite his friends. wonwoo shook his head solemnly in response and requested they have a family movie night instead, the unspoken fact that he had no friends to invite in the first place lingering in the air.

the moment he was asked, however, it wasn’t refusal on his mind, nor his lack of social skills. instead, his thoughts went back a few months earlier, to the garden party of a younger boy and the makeshift cake they made out of pudding and cookies.

he remembered the bitter-sweet pain inflicted upon his stomach; the kind of pain brought on by a soundless fit of laughter, body doubled over.

at some point during the party, his brother and mingyu stood lifelessly in front of one of the wives as she reprimanded the two for crawling under her table and stealing a view at her undergarments. wonwoo watched mingyu give seokmin a disgruntled glance in response to the accusation as the latter returned it with an expression that read “i’m going to be sick”. once wonwoo considered himself amused enough, he took a deep breath, wiping at the corners of his eyes before marching off to save his brother and the birthday boy.

it was rare for wonwoo to have that much fun outside of home. entertainment was constant with an almost literal ball of energy of a brother, but for a stranger in a strange place to bring wonwoo to tears… it left a curious feeling in his chest.

_“if he were to come…”_

in the end, wonwoo put no effort in inviting the boy he met. it wasn’t out of a sudden disinterest in kim mingyu, but rather a weird feeling that made his palms sweaty and his head fuzzy, a feeling he couldn’t name. he couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.

now, as his father ruffles seokmin’s hair, ready to leave for work, that feeling spurs him into doing something uncharacteristic of himself: he grabs his father’s hand and makes eye contact, brows furrowed with determination.

“i’m going with you to see chairman kim.”

♚

**september 17, 1982**

he can tell wonwoo is anxious. no one else seems to notice, but mingyu does.

it’s like watching the delicate movements of a houseplant as it greets the morning with open arms and stifles a yawn at the approach of night. it can only be seen if you’re looking, and when it comes to wonwoo, mingyu always is.

he watches wonwoo glide his thumb against the sleek face of his rolex in circles, over and over again. the heat of wonwoo’s thigh presses desperately against his own, as if he’s trying to ground himself to the here and now. mingyu wants to reach over, pull wonwoo into his arms as he’s done countless times: in an empty hallway at the hospital, in the intimate quiet of mingyu’s apartment, everywhere and anywhere, but he doesn’t. he can’t.

now is not the time.

he doesn’t know why that’s so, but he can feel it. his body is more attuned to the tension in the room than his head is.

mingyu settles on resting his hand on the edge of his own thigh and presses his pinky against wonwoo’s wrist. it’s only a light brush of skin, but wonwoo stills his thumb, the soft rhythm of time continuing beneath the pad of his finger, and he takes a deep breath. the intake of air has mingyu biting at the inside of his cheeks in worry, but he’s quickly reassured when wonwoo returns his touch, body relaxing into mingyu’s own.

a short-statured man then walks into the foyer, round glasses similar to wonwoo’s sitting on the edge of his nose. a few steps behind him is another man with a dazed and somewhat foreign face, a bright yellow notepad in one hand and pen at the ready in the other.

everyone in the foyer was called to the hong household shortly after they were told of chairman kim’s passing. each person in attendance was quick to receive the news, albeit in different ways. several learned of chairman kim’s passing through the frantic phone calls of his secretary, who had not been able to reach him for the last few hours, worried about a critical meeting set to occur later in the evening. the others found out by accident. they just happened to have the news on, being at the right place, at the right time. those closest to chairman kim, particularly those related to him, were immediately contacted by the police upon identification of the body.

as for mingyu, he wasn't even past the front door of his apartment, returning home from a busier than normal day at work, before the cry of the landline summoned him from the living room. with purposeful steps, he quickly shut the front door behind him and moved to answer the phone. several minutes passed, in which mingyu was only capable of responding with indistinguishable mumbles. at some point the call ended without mingyu noticing, the husky voice with a slight accent replaced by the abrasive _beeps_ of the dial tone.

was this all real? these kinds of things happened in dramas, the ones mingyu watched on sunday afternoons with a cat-like wonwoo, who napped next to him under the gentle embrace of sunlight—but there was no camera, no script to be remembered.

was he... sad? mingyu and his grandfather had never been particularly close. the only force pulling mingyu into the orbit of his distant and constantly busy grandfather was the blood that ran through him, the very blood that also ran through his mother. maybe it was indifference? in his teenage years, mingyu had already decided and made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the family company, opting to pave his own path instead. it made a lot of people unhappy, including his grandfather, but mingyu didn’t budge.

the weight of these thoughts sit heavy and nameless in his chest, heavy enough that he didn’t have it in him to change out of his work suit, which he knew smelled of cooking oil and smoke, before making his way to the hong household as directed by his father.

now, basking in the light of the orange flame of the fireplace and the incandescent bulbs up above, he waits for the unfamiliar man to speak, hoping to appease the uneasy tension in his body.

“i’m lee jihoon from the homicide department,” the man states gravely. mingyu notes the man's sharp attitude as it contrasts his soft and youthful appearance. a beat later, he brusquely juts a thumb out to gesture behind him, “and this is hansol, my lackey.”

“partner.”

“same thing,” jihoon continues, quick to change the subject. he addresses the curious men in the room without hesitation.

“i’m not gonna beat around the bush. chairman kim was found dead a few hours away from here and, as of right now, i’m trying to figure out the who, what, where, when, and why of it all," he pauses to let the men take this in, "i'm still waiting to hear back from the medical examiner, but...”

pointed whispers and soft murmurs of disapproval begin to fill the air as jihoon's voice trails off. everyone in the room is smart enough to get the implication, and they're not happy about it.

mingyu doesn’t like the way his body braces itself, the hairs on his arms standing at attention as he waits for an argument to ensue. he considers himself especially sensitive to the discontent of others, too overeager to lighten the mood. if he had been alone, he might have made an inappropriate joke told at an inappropriate time in a failed attempt, but wonwoo occupies the space next to him, and with wonwoo, he always feels safe enough to just let things be.

“so why are we here then, detective?” calls out a stout man with untamed, greying eyebrows. the doe-eyed man next to him presses his lips into a thin line at the interjection but remains quiet. the man, a cousin of mingyu’s who works in legal affairs at k pharmaceuticals, knows better than to argue with his boss, regardless of the familial power he holds against him. all mingyu can offer him from a distance is a sympathetic smile when they make eye contact. as relatives, they don’t really share any features or mannerisms. the older of the two constantly teases that “attractiveness” is the only thing they have in common, but in this moment, the mirrored looks of discomfort betray that.

“simple,” jihoon says. mingyu notices hansol linger behind the detective as he glances around the room and writes listlessly on the notepad in his hand. what he could be writing about, mingyu doesn't know, and he’s not entirely sure if he wants to.

next to him, wonwoo shifts and slowly, his fingers inch closer to mingyu’s. the cold of one hand meets the warmth of the other’s as their fingers slot together. their joined hands press securely between them against their touching thighs. mingyu can’t tell if the gesture is meant to soothe wonwoo or himself, but either way, he accepts it. he allows himself this comfort, at least right now, as his attention returns to the shorter, silver-haired detective.

“you’re all suspects, or at the very least, important enough for me to ask you a few things here and there,” jihoon says assertively, his body language quickly changing, letting everyone in the room know he’s serious. “it’s also the reason why none of you are allowed to leave the country until you either have an alibi or i’ve milked all the information i can from you.”

around mingyu, cries of opposal and dissent swim by. it’s mostly the older men who grunt out phrases like “we’re businessmen, you fool!” and “you can’t do that to us!”. it’s during this commotion that mingyu finally notices the presence of his father as he stands near the entrance of the foyer behind the other, the wiry man’s disapproval at the outbursts apparent.

as soon as he arrived, mingyu instinctively sought out wonwoo. in his haste, he didn’t manage to take note of the other occupants of the foyer. now, as he glances around the room, he inspects them all with a careful curiosity.

just arm’s reach away from wonwoo stands seokmin, sharply dressed but hair unruly. not much has changed about him since childhood, but the nature of their gathering converts seokmin’s typically sunny energy into nervousness as he fidgets awkwardly in front of the fireplace. mingyu wonders if jeonghan, as involved as he is in everything and anything noteworthy, roped seokmin into going to the hong household along with wonwoo. mingyu momentarily questions this before he remembers it’s _jeonghan and seokmin._ there's no doubt that's what happened.

mingyu pulls his eyes away from seokmin’s apparent discomfort and rests it on the occupants of the couch opposite of him. a heavy silence surrounds the two men, impenetrable. the contrast of their physiques make for a pretty picture: firm solidity complimented by lithe fluidity. mingyu recognizes the two as seungcheol and minghao, men who held the title of the young-but-capable chief company executive and his competent, but cunning, secretary, respectively.

he knows wonwoo and seungcheol work closely with each other. he even considers that that the two might be friends outside of office hours as well. mingyu, on the other hand, never attempted to initiate anything more than small talk with the executive and his secretary. truthfully, it was only when he accompanied wonwoo to his own family’s company events that they would come into contact. mingyu steals a glance to his left. if it weren’t for the socially withdrawn man beside him, he would never have bothered with anything related to k pharmaceuticals, the kim family name be damned.

mingyu continues his inspection, and eventually his focus lands on the other men in the room. their small group consists of departmental directors and shareholders on the board. it’s a sea of salt-and-pepper hair, a lighthouse appearing in the sheen of the youngest’s light brown curls. he’s a cousin mingyu is not particularly close to, mostly due to their wide age gap, and a cousin jisoo hates. he knows very little about the rest of the group, only aware of what their roles are in the grand scheme of k pharmaceuticals.

in front of mingyu, seungcheol straightens his back and opens his mouth to condemn them for their unnecessary outbursts, but before he can, hansol harshly clears his throat. the rough sound is loud enough to quiet the room as the younger detective then peers up from his notebook, eyes slightly hidden under curled, copper bangs.

“innocent people normally comply, don’t they?”

it’s not really a question, but none of the grumbling men can find it in them to retort anyway. the silence is loud enough to answer for them. mingyu bathes in the sight of their conflicted faces. it makes mingyu want to clap: encore, encore, encore. he knows wonwoo shares his sentiments. he doesn’t need to look to know the corners of wonwoo’s mouth are slightly quirked upwards in amusement.

after a moment of contemplation, small discussions begin amongst them. mingyu finally turns to face wonwoo, ready to make sense of all of this, and in doing so, he just barely catches the split-second transition that occurs on wonwoo’s face. the curious bemusement is gone and in its place is its marble replacement, sculpted angles and cold to the touch. mingyu frowns at the sudden shift and tilts his head slightly to follow wonwoo’s line of sight. it's then that mingyu spots the cause of the change, the cursed medusa of the night.

lee jihoon, homicide detective, with stern eyes and an unreadable smile, points decisively at wonwoo and makes his demand:

“let’s start with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im.. im doin' the thing,,,
> 
> this ch took me a while bc real life is a thing and also my brain didn't want to work for a while sob sob sob  
> but hopefully the work makes up for the time some of you had 2 wait for (if u r even bothering to wait ily)
> 
> as usual ur kudos and comments and bookmarks feed me  
> im looking forward to developing this to completion while also tending to my other wonwoo x ________ cravings via oneshots wahoo
> 
> [visit NOSEBANDAGE on twitter →](https://twitter.com/NOSEBANDAGE)


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